Death is such a parting and meeting, you never know how far someone has gone, or come. It blurs the lines.

I can still see Taimoor — right here; him and his friend, Tanvir. It’s circa 1999, around midnight. On the weekend, most of the boys at Government College, Lahore’s New Hostel are out to make the most of the ‘freedom’ of not having to return before 2 am. (The hostel shuts doors on weekdays at 10pm.) I can see the hostel’s pillars and the black-and-white, huge squares on the floor before the entrance.

I climb the stairs. The feet register their presence; the sound being unusually louder than what I am used to hearing on an empty weekend night.

I am heading to my room. Close to the library, when I’m about to turn towards a narrow alley, a singing voice greets me. Taimoor is sitting there on the table, near the window. He asks me to come over. Imagine Gandhi in his teens! But Taimoor is quite tall. Has short hair, wears a round frame of glasses. And the stream of words, when he speaks, is effortless.

Also seated on the table is Tanvir Iqbal. We talk about literature. He says boastingly that he’s finished reading Raja Gidh in just a day’s time.

Tanvir and Taimoor are almost alike. After Tanvir leaves, Taimoor and I stay back. He is trying to finish an assignment for a 5^th-year political science student, his brother’s roommate. (Taimur, like me, is in 3^rd-year, BA, Part I.)

I’ve never spent so much time on a first meeting with someone, but with Taimoor it’s special. You’d be with him and feel as if you were in your own company, perhaps even more comfortable.

We get up to go to his brother Mansoor’s room where we find the guy who’s ‘famous’ for so many things, asleep. He’s a very intelligent fellow. Also, rumour has it that when he was at King Edward Medical College (KEMC), he climbed up the white building’s rooftop and threatened to jump if a certain teacher failed him in the examination.

In Mansoor’s room, we find a shelf, stuffed with books. There’s the Holy Qur’an as well as a big, fat book on economics. He’s quite a reader, I’m sure!

We have tea and then go downstairs for a walk in Nasser Bagh at daybreak.

I’ve never spent so much time on a first meeting with someone, but with Taimoor it’s special. You’d be with him and feel as if you were in your own company, perhaps even more comfortable.

Back in the hostel, we spend a bit more time sitting around at the tennis court. The purpose has been to enjoy lassi and paratha, a breakfast specialty reserved for Sunday mornings.

The meetings afterwards are about him and his friends smoking, reading out Faiz and Rashid, and consuming multiple cups of tea at Billu Bhai’s canteen. One fine morning, after our annual welcome party, a bunch of us mostly 3^rd-year students head out to Anarkali. After breakfast, we are passing through Nasser Bagh, when we see a few men, sporting white prayer caps and looking like they just came out of a mosque, bullying a majawar and trying to dismantle a shrine. We confront them. We are told that a few years ago there was no sign of a shrine at the place, and that this man is trying to turn an ordinary grave into a shrine. The matter is resolved. Both the arm twisters and we (students) head back, leaving the majawar there.

I leave GCU in a few months. The process is too slow. Also, I don’t fit in here. I had wanted to study one thing but was made to study something else. I complete my BA in four years. The enthusiasm to learn is lost somewhere in losing and finding myself in city life, Punjabi cinema, Dickens, Shakespeare... But I am back at GC for a master’s in philosophy.

One afternoon, I spot Taimoor stepping out of the PG Café. He walks towards me, and with open arms, gives me a hug. We go back in. Taimoor has passed his CSS examination and there’s a sense of shared joy. We also run into his other friends, who passed the exam like him.

Years go by. Our paths hardly cross again. Circa 2016, I am in Austin, USA. Taimoor is also in the US on a scholarship, probably for a master’s programme. We talk over phone for well over an hour, about Pakistan and his plans to explore PhD options. He is also planning a road trip, from East to West Coast.

Salman Haider is also in Austin and would likely join us. But I am leaving for Germany, so we can’t meet up. He says he’ll touch base in Pakistan. A year or so later, I read on my Facebook newsfeed: “Too soon, Taimoor!”

Death is so real but some lives — so well lived — are the embodiment of disbelief in our memory, long after they are gone. They defy the suspension of disbelief, because it’s hard to believe that they are gone. They are like moments you forget but which linger on and could knock at your door any moment.

The author is currently pursuing a PhD in socio-cultural anthropology at the University of Texas, Austin, USA